


Wither

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dark, Ghost Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Not Happy, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: Twenty-seven years into his prison sentence, Draco Malfoy succumbs to complications of an untreated illness alone in his cell. That doesn’t stop his lover, Harry Potter, from continuing to visit him every Yuletide.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	Wither

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpha_exodus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Alpha_exodus! I don’t think this little thing really fits your wishlist properly, but it kept nagging at me. I liked a lot of yours prompts, (wish I could do a lot more with them tbh but nothing wanted to work properly, which is on me) and you’ll be able to pick out some lines. It’s dark and angsty and non fluffy, that’s for sure. It’s also ghost!fic. Happy holidays!

It’s cold in Azkaban.

The sea roils outside and the rain lashes. Harry’s cloak is drenched from the three steps between the only apparition point on the rock and the entrance.

He leaves his hood up, shrouding his face in darkness, as he traverses the hallways. By this point, he knows exactly where he is going.

Draco’s eerie glow furls out into the hallway around his cell. All of the rooms are small and identical, blocked off by magic-repelling iron-based bars and who knows what else.

It will be a short visit. Draco’s memory does not function properly anymore. He has no sense of time passing either, perhaps because it is meaningless to him.

He stands alone in the centre of the room, gazing stoically through his window. Harry is glad, for his own sanity, that this is Draco’s default pose. He never arrives to a vulnerable ghost-Draco curled up miserably on what passes for his bed, or a pearly tangle of limbs amassed on the cold, wet floor.

Draco is bright against the surrounding darkness. Blindingly so. His astral form holds no signs of his illness, other than a perpetual tiredness that must have been his whole existence near the end.

Harry still loves him, will always love him, with a deep longing he will never feel again. He feels guilty that the pain has faded over the years. Sometimes, particularly in summer when the sun is at its brightest and his mind is as far from Azkaban as it possibly can be, he forgets that he is meant to be mourning. But then he will look at something stupid and simple and think he needs to tell Draco and his heart pangs. 

Draco turns to him, graceful as only a ghost can be. He is just as handsome as Harry remembers him, even with his sleepy eyes and ruffled hair.

“Oh. Is it Yule already?” he murmurs sleepily when Harry steps forth from the shadows.

A hum vibrates from deep in Harry’s throat in agreement. “How are you?” he asks through the iron.

“Exceptionally lonely.” Harry doesn’t think he means physically. “No one talks to me in here.” It hurts more that Harry thinks he is remembering his time here while alive.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay long,” Harry says, the same way he always does because he can’t stand to be here anymore. 

He can’t stand to be away either.

From the folds of his robes, Harry draws out a sprig of butcher’s broom. It’s bright green leaves tremble as he holds it up, and the merry red berries nestled at the ends of the fronds dangle precariously. 

Back when Draco was alive and miserable in entirely different ways, Harry used to bring a small branch each year for him to decorate his dingy cell with. The colours shine bright in the gloom. 

Now, the dementors will dispose of this before he even steps foot off the island; empty cells don’t get presents. In a way, Harry is glad they do. Back then, it was a sign of hope for the future. Survival. Life. These days, it’s another dagger to Harry’s battered heart. He left his offering at home one year, though, but Draco remembered. Harry had never seen a ghost’s tears before that.

Nevertheless, he places the bloom in front of the cell door. Draco watches him with cold eyes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come at all then,” he mutters icily, the same as he did when Harry came seven years ago and every visit since.

Harry lets himself stare for a few more moments, then returns back outside to the grey world.

Perhaps next year will be different.


End file.
